I Drove All Night
by LadyDivine91
Summary: After Nope-aggedon and their lunch at the Ritz, instead of staying with Aziraphale, Crowley leaves under the guise of 'tying up loose ends'. But after hours behind the wheel of his Bentley he realizes he's not 'tying up loose ends', he's running away. And he's going in the wrong direction. Aziraphale x Crowley


_**Notes:**_

_**Written for the anon prompt Cyndi Lauper's 'I Drove All Night'. Listen to it while you read this. It sort of broke me XD**_

"That was a splendid lunch! Absolutely fabulous! I can't remember the last time we shared such a scrumptious meal!" Aziraphale gushes, basking in the afterglow that comes from thwarting a world-ending supernatural war, helping send Satan himself back to Hell, escaping execution, then topping it off with three slices of cake and two helpings of crepes.

"I'll admit, I can't remember myself," Crowley says, content, but not quite as effervescent as his angel companion.

"It was quite the celebration, wouldn't you say?"

"That I would."

"So, what are you in the mood to do now?" Aziraphale asks, turning to Crowley with a wiggle before the demon has thrown his car into park. Aziraphale doesn't offer any suggestions, but the smile on his face points to the fact that he has some.

Some he's given a great deal of thought to.

Crowley examines his steering wheel, his instrument panel, his gauges, reads the mileage forward and backward to keep his mind from wondering what those ideas could be, and if they happen to be similar to ones he's come up with during his own drunken daydreaming.

"I've got to go," he says apologetically. "Tend to some business. Tie up a few loose ends. You know how it is."

"Oh!" Aziraphale's bubbly smile falls in confusion. Without sparing a glance, Crowley can tell that wasn't the answer Aziraphale had been expecting. "O-okay."

"I imagine you need to, too," Crowley adds, hoping it's true.

He knows it isn't.

Aziraphale takes too long to answer and that confirms Crowley's suspicions on the matter.

"Y-yes," Aziraphale says in a stuttered rush, struggling to re-group. "Of … of course. Quite right. I need to … tie up loose ends. As well. How long will that take you, do you think?" His eyes are puppyish, pleading. They sever the last fraying strings that have kept Crowley's maggoty heart a prisoner in his chest.

_'Oh well. I'll do better once it's gone,'_ he thinks. _'Maybe I should slice it out once and for all. Put it in a box. Give it to Aziraphale to lock away in his curio cabinet beside his collection of snuff boxes and his blasted cherub figurines. It's always belonged to him anyhow …'_

"I don't know," Crowley replies. "Not too long? Coupl'a years at the most."

"A couple of … a couple of _years_?"

"Give or take. Be back before you know it. You won't even miss me."

"I … I guess I won't." Aziraphale's eyes drift from Crowley's face to a random spot on the dash, his whole being sliding further and further away, as if his bookshop behind him is pulling him to it.

Or the Bentley is pushing him out.

But he can't leave yet, not without proper acknowledgement that this is the end – that everything that's led up to this moment, everything that he thought meant so much actually meant less than he imagined. Much less. But such is the nature of the beast, right? Angel … demon … together … and in _love_?

Ridiculous.

It was just a dream. _His_ dream alone.

Besides, the world would probably explode.

"I see," he says, steeling his shoulders and tipping up his chin. "Yes. A couple of years. Sounds about right. Well then, you'd better get started."

"Yeah," Crowley says, surprisingly bothered that he's taking it so well. "I guess I'd better."

"I suspect I'll … I'll see you around then. Sooner or later."

"Sooner or later."

"As they say, don't be a stranger." Aziraphale offers Crowley his hand. Crowley looks at it. Shaking hands isn't something they normally do, so Aziraphale initiating this definitely stands out as odd. Crowley had thought to leave him with a hug but perhaps this is better in the long run.

Crowley takes the offered hand and shakes it. Aziraphale gasps when they touch – a sudden and sharp mew. When they let go, he watches Crowley's hand retreat till it's resting on the steering wheel again.

If Aziraphale had been expecting something else, he doesn't mention it.

"Good-bye, Crowley," he says softly, opening the passenger door, exiting the vehicle, and closing it behind him before Crowley has the chance to say, "See ya."

* * *

Crowley mulls over his and Aziraphale's parting as he drives down the motorway on his way to Edinburgh. Hours he spends recounting every word, the tone of Aziraphale's voice, the color in his cheeks - that rosy glow that fills the apples when he's excited.

How quickly those roses and apples withered when Crowley said he needed to go.

The look on Aziraphale's face, in his eyes, is one Crowley will remember for as long as he exists. It's the same look he wore at the bandstand when Crowley stormed away, and again outside the bookshop when he said he was leaving Earth and wouldn't think of him.

_Fuck_!

_Bloody fuck_!

What the fuck is he doing?

Why did he leave!?

Where did he really need to be?

_No_where, and that's the point.

He knows he isn't exactly the bravest demon in Hell, but he didn't see himself as disloyal.

Dammit if he isn't proving himself wrong left and right!

He isn't tending to business.

He's running away.

Always running.

He'd offered to run and take Aziraphale with him, threatened to run and leave him behind, and now here he is, running under the guise of wrapping up loose ends. What loose ends? Every loose end he has should be scared shitless of him at this point! They'd all have heard by now, how he escaped a bath of Holy Water and lived to tell the tale. If he had any honest to goodness loose ends to tie up, wouldn't it be best to do it with an angel by his side? The one angel on Earth every demon believes is impervious to Hellfire?

Crowley doesn't even need to hide! He has nothing left to do for the moment but settle down somewhere and start enjoying himself until Heaven and Hell decide to start another row.

So why isn't he doing that?

When he thinks about it, _really_ thinks about it, there's only one place he wants to spend his time, only one being he wants to spend that time with.

And he's driving in the opposite direction.

"Shit shit shit shit _shit_!"

He doesn't pull over. Doesn't exit the motorway. He wrenches the Bentley's steering wheel to turn his car around. The tires squeal at the abrupt change in direction, the vehicle spinning so quickly it almost flips on its side. Horns wail. Headlights from oncoming cars fly past, swerving out of his way to avoid a head on collision.

"Yeah, yeah, die mad about it," he mumbles, throwing his car into gear. He doesn't wait until he's fully installed in a lane. As soon as he's facing the way he needs to go, he drops his foot on the gas and floors it.

* * *

_Knock-knock-knock_.

"Aziraphale!"

_Knock-knock-knock_.

"Aziraphale!"

It's well past two in the morning when Crowley ends up on Aziraphale's doorstep, slamming his knuckles against the wood and praying Aziraphale is there. The angel wouldn't answer his calls. Every light in the place is off. Even the lantern he reads by, its golden glow usually visible through the pulled blinds, appears absent. Aziraphale doesn't need a lamp to read by, of course. He simply prefers the ambiance of it. The novelty.

_Knock-knock-knock_.

"Aziraphale! Are you in?"

_Knock-knock-knock. _

"Aziraphale? Why are your lights off? Are you asleep?"

Aziraphale doesn't open the door, but he tuts from the opposite side. "Really, Crowley? Do you know me at all?"

"Aziraphale, please! Open the door!"

A moment of deliberation, than a put upon sigh. "Why should I?"

"Because I want to talk to you."

"You're talking to me now."

"Ngk! You ever-loving pain in the … _yes_, but I want to _see_ you!"

"I suppose you won't go away till you do. Probably miracle straight through the door if I don't let you." More deliberation and another sigh. "Fine. Alright." Crowley hears Aziraphale undo the bolts on the door one at a time. A simple snap would make short work of them, and Crowley considers it, but he can't force Aziraphale to hear him out, no matter how much he wants him to. Aziraphale opens the door a sliver and peeks out, tired eyes assessing him like a gentleman confronted by a long lost relative, thrice removed, begging for money. "Well … what is it?" he grumbles. "Why are you here?"

"Aziraphale …" Crowley throws his hands open and sighs "… I'm here because I'm an idiot."

Aziraphale's eyes roll, but the door opens a hair. "_I_ know that, but that doesn't explain why you've come back. Don't you have business to attend to? What about your _loose ends_?"

"There are no loose ends. None that matter. There's just you."

The door opens wider and this time, Aziraphale takes a step forward. "Then why did you leave?"

"I-I don't know." Crowley's tongue trips, his excuse skids. No. He's not going to start this on a lie. "That's … that's not true. But the reasons don't matter. I'm back and I … I really wish …"

"Wish what?" Another step and now Aziraphale is outside.

"I wish you'd kiss me."

Aziraphale's eyebrows shoot up. "You want me to kiss you?"

"Yes. Please," Crowley says, a nod separating each word. "Kiss me?"

Aziraphale's head shakes, his mouth starting to work soundlessly. "I don't … I don't know …"

Crowley puts a hand to Aziraphale's cheek. His shaking stops. A pinkish burn takes its place. "Aziraphale …" Crowley reaches up with his free hand and removes his sunglasses. Aziraphale's startled eyes dart about, subconsciously checking to see that no one is watching. And no one is. They're in Soho, for crying out loud! Not a soul is paying any attention to them. But Aziraphale's need to ensure Crowley's safety, to keep him protected, reaches into the heart of him and pulls out the words he should have said yesterday afternoon when he dropped Aziraphale off and, like an imbecile, drove away. "I love you, Aziraphale. I love you and I … I need you to kiss me."

There's the smallest, reflexive nod of Aziraphale's head. It would have been missed by someone else, someone not staring right into the angel's eyes with expectation and hope. But Crowley was staring with both those things, so he saw. He nods back, and when he does, Aziraphale pounces, closing the gap between them – one of not just a few inches but thousands of years. He closes a gap of repressed feelings and unexpressed emotions, opens a door for unrealized daydreams, and sweeps away the dust off countless _what ifs_. There are whole chapters of their lives drafted but unedited – piled up on the sofa in Aziraphale's back room, spread out over the passenger seat of Crowley's Bentley, wedged between bottles of Jack Daniels and Merlot in both their liquor cabinets. Printed between the pages of Aziraphale's open Bible and collected in a dried ring deep inside an empty tartan-print Thermos that once contained Holy Water. On the SD card in Crowley's phone and a file on Aziraphale's computer. Imprinted as footsteps throughout time, all over the world. While Aziraphale kisses Crowley and Crowley kisses him back, those pages are summoned. They gather in the gloam, making their way towards the angel and demon kissing at Aziraphale's door.

"So, what are you in the mood to do now?" Aziraphale asks, realizing that with the admission of Crowley's lie, the original question has been left newly unanswered.

"I want to stay with you, if you don't mind. We … we don't have to do anything. Not a thing if you don't want to."

"Oh. That's a shame," Aziraphale says with that little smile he gets when he's just thought up a particularly clever joke. And even though that joke may very well be at Crowley's expense, Crowley loves that smile.

He loves that he knows this about Aziraphale – something no one else on Heaven or Earth probably does.

"And why's that?" Crowley asks.

"Because I was quite hoping you'd make love to me."

Crowley blorts out a chuckle so unexpected, it stings his nose. If there's one thing Aziraphale could say that would get a reaction out of him at that tense moment, it was that. Bravo, Aziraphale! But after a few awkward seconds of silence and a prolonged glare, it registers.

It's not a joke.

That's not a joke.

"Are you … are you _serious_?"

"I was." Aziraphale clears his throat, his eyes falling to his clasped hands, visibly hurt by Crowley's reaction; mildly broken by this whole ordeal. "I didn't realize how ridiculous you thought …"

Crowley leans over, bends to the level of Aziraphale's gaze and looks into his eyes. "Yes."

Aziraphale's brow pinches. "Yes what?"

"Yes, Aziraphale," Crowley repeats, running the pad of his thumb lightly over the angel's lower lip. "Yes."

"But you …"

"Yes …"

"I thought …"

"Yes …"

Aziraphale stops rambling as Crowley inches closer. "_Yes_?"

Crowley nods.

"Yes."

Their mouths meet. Aziraphale wobbles a step. Crowley catches him.

"Yes," he mumbles between kisses, leading Aziraphale slowly backwards.

"Yes," he says, sliding one hand underneath Aziraphale's vest to feel the angel's warmth, his shuddering breaths.

"Are you … are you _sure_?" Aziraphale asks one last time, closing his eyes against days' worth of tears he has no power to stop.

Crowley smiles and kisses them away.

"Yes," he whispers, ushering Aziraphale inside his shop, snapping his fingers to shut and lock the door behind him.


End file.
